


Spit and Vinegar

by Eleke



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Discipline, Dubious Consent, First Time, Handcuffs, M/M, Oral Sex, Punishment, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleke/pseuds/Eleke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn't do it often, only when a hunt went bad or someone died under their watch. Sam refuses to let Dean hurt himself, so they come to a compromise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spit and Vinegar

The first time Sam saw the scars, found out about Dean’s ritual, he felt sick.

He didn’t do it that often, Dean swore. Just when a hunt went bad, or someone died under their watch. He needed a reminder to be stronger, be faster, just a little more smarter and a little more on top of things.

Sam wasn’t fooled; it was all about punishing himself for some imagined failure, even if it was beyond anyone’s control.

He had no idea how Dean hid it for so long; living in each other’s pockets as they did, he should have had some indication Dean was punishing himself, should have seen the scars, even if they could be easily hidden under the leg of his boxers. It wasn’t until Dean had been scored down the thigh one hunt that Sam had finally seen the rope of scar tissue circling his thigh as he stitched Dean up. After that, it wasn’t long until the whole story came out, and Dean finally showed Sam the weapon he used against himself.

Sam could remember the way the celise’s points had dug into his palm as he gripped it, points sharp enough to draw blood. Traditionally, they weren’t supposed to wound, just be painful - trust Dean to take it a step further.

Sam forbid him from doing it again, throwing the celise in a dumpster in a fit of dramatics. Dean agreed, but the slope of his shoulders and ducked head telegraphed his unhappiness with the idea.

A couple months later, after a particularly disastrous hunt, Dean had several sleepless nights in a row. By the end of the fourth day his hands were so shaky that he could barely hold a glass to his mouth to drink, and his appetite was non-existent.

That’s when they came to a compromise. Sam didn’t want Dean disfiguring his body and risking infection, and the best way Sam could figure to make sure he doesn’t, would be to become the punisher Dean needs.

So there they were, Dean with his shirt off, hands cuffed behind his back, kneeling on the filthy motel carpet and bent over so far that his nose was almost touching the floor. His arms were trembling, and Sam would almost think it’d be in fear if it wasn’t for the fact that as soon as he brought the handcuffs out he could almost feel the anticipation rolling off of Dean in waves.

The riding crop was almost soundless as it arced through the air, and Dean hissed as the strike landed on his shoulders. Before Sam’s eyes he could see the skin, white from the strike, darken to an angry red.

“Count for me,” he said. Something in his voice was wrong - too low in register, strangely hoarse.

Dean was quiet but for harsh breathing until he finally said, low, “One.”

Sam swung again, this time red bloomed across the back of one arm.

THWACK!

“T-two.”

Another strike, on his other arm.

THWACK!

“Three,” was a gasp.

They continued like that, until one Dean’s forehead was pressed into the carpet, his lower body shifting strangely, and “Ten” was almost silent, muffled as it was into the thin pile.

For a long moment they remained in their same positions, both of them breathing hard and frozen in time.

Sam’s arm was shaking; his whole body was trembling, in fact. Five strikes in and he’d realized he was getting hard, and by the tenth and final lash his dick was aching for relief. He took a few deep breaths to calm his excited body and dropped the crop and stepped forward, kneeling and carefully putting a hand on the back of Dean’s neck, his thumb brushing the short brush at his hair line. “Dean?”

Dean started to take a deep breath but flinched visibly when the welts stretched as his ribs expanded. With a soft “Here,” Sam snaked an arm around to Dean’s chest and pulled up, helping him sit up straight. Once Dean was more-or-less vertical though his head was still bowed and breath shaky, Sam unlocked the handcuffs keeping Dean’s arms bound.

Sam stood and watched him for a moment, but Dean’s expression was blank, his gaze far-off and unfocused. He swallowed hard and tried to keep the surging nauseous feeling in his belly down. He suddenly didn’t think that his great idea was all that great, especially if it turned Dean into this distant echo of himself. Especially considering his own reaction.

“Would,” Sam started, but had to clear his throat and start over when it broke. “Would you like some help with your back?”

Dean took another breath, but was obviously more mindful of his back as he exhaled before his lungs expanded to their full capacity, and nodded. He drew himself up straight, and Sam’s eyes glanced over him, an instinctual look-over to make sure Dean was physically fine when he caught sight of something that made him freeze.

Even though Dean’s jeans were loose, the hard swell of his cock was thick and obvious under denim stressed due to Dean‘s kneeling stance.

That certainly changed things. Sam vowed at that moment not to ever punish Dean again, not if they were going to get worked up like that. It was too much, it was crossing a line that should never even be considered. It was -

Dean finally looked up, and almost like they were being drawn by magnets his eyes went directly to Sam’s crotch. Right to where his cock was still hard and pressing against his fly.

A hundred apologies and self-recriminations flew through Sam’s head, but before he could say anything Dean leaned forward and nuzzled the bulge there.

Sam gasped and tried to step back, but Dean seemed to sense his intent and his hands, no longer cuffed behind his back, shot forward and grasped Sam’s hips hard, holding him in one place.

“Please, Sam,” Dean said, his eyes closed and cheek pressed against Sam’s cock. “Let me do this. Please, Sammy, please, please,”

How could Sam say no? Sam swallowed the saliva that was flooding his mouth and nodded. Realizing Dean couldn’t see him with his eyes closed, Sam croaked out, “Okay, Dean. Do it.”

Dean exhaled harshly, his breath stuttering as he rubbed his cheek against Sam like a cat in heat. His hands loosened their death grip around Sam’s hips and began tugging at Sam’s fly, undoing the button and pulling the zipper down so. Damn. Slowly despite the desperation that was in his voice just moments before.

They gasped as one as soon as Sam’s cock was bared, Sam because of the shock of cool air against his hot flesh, Dean because… well, Sam could only guess.

Probably nothing bad, Sam decided, considering Dean held Sam’s dick in one hand and pressed his face where it met Sam’s body and inhaled, deep, like he was trying to bring Sam into himself with that breath. When Dean pressed a kiss against the base of Sam’s cock, Sam couldn’t help but shiver and run his fingers through Dean’s short hair.

Dean kept giving Sam’s cock little kisses, making his way up the shaft before giving it one last kiss right over the hole. His tongue darted out a second later, lapping up the bit of moisture that had gathered right where he kissed. Without much further ado he popped the head into his mouth and sucked, like Sam’s dick was a popsicle and he was starving.

Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulders as Dean blew him, knowing his fingers were more than likely digging into the raw lashes in his back, but not caring. And considering Dean’s own enthusiasm never flagging, it seemed like Dean didn’t even notice. It wasn’t the best blow job Sam had ever gotten - that title still belonged to Jess - but due to the fact that Dean was blowing him like he was desperate for it, swallowing him down and choking a bit, just to withdraw and try again, and the fact that it was Dean that had his lips around Sam, that was rolling Sam’s balls with his hand like it was nothing, put him definitely somewhere in the top five.

Sam opened his eyes which had fallen closed and Saw Dean watching him, his own eyes wide open and looking up at Sam with those strangely piercingly green eyes, and Dean shot straight up to at least the number two spot as Sam groaned and shuddered and came.

Dean made a surprised noise and his eyes flew open as his mouth flooded, but he started to swallow immediately.

Once Sam had emptied himself, he let his legs collapse under him and lowered himself to the carpet in a slow fall, eyes closed as he breathed hard and let the shocky sensation of orgasm leave his body. He was so occupied with how he felt and the lingering peace of afterglow, he didn’t even notice that Dean hadn’t said anything, but was instead making a soft, whimpering sound.

Sam’s eyes flew open, and he was immediately caught by the sight of Dean rubbing hard on his own crotch, the palm of his hand pressing against his jeans as his fingers dug in, his other hands trying to undo the fly but were sliding off of the button. He was so desperate to come that he couldn’t even take his own pants off.

Sam pressed forward, patting Dean’s rubbing hand away and replacing it with his own before Dean could do anything but give a watery gasp. Both of Dean’s hands came up to grip Sam hard, fingertips digging into his shoulders hard enough to hurt. Sam only gave a couple rubs and was in the middle of helping Dean unzip his jeans when Dean’s hips lurched off the carpet, and he was pulled roughly forward until Dean could bury his face into Sam’s neck, gasping as he rode out his own orgasm.

Sam tentatively rubbed Dean’s side, careful of his back. Dean was covered in sweat, which couldn’t have felt good on his welts, but Dean didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as they sat there, Dean began to relax and become heavy, drowsing where he sat.

Sam sighed and debated waking Dean enough to get him to bed, and afterward could get out an antiseptic salve and treat the lines across Dean’s back and arms.

Instead he planted a kiss on the joint of Dean’s shoulders and neck which was conveniently right in front of him and decided to wait a little while. They were calm, and one or both of them were going to freak out in the morning, so Sam let the lazy comfort between them lie.

Tomorrow was another day, and they’d deal with everything then.


End file.
